


Any Which Way You Can

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s01e12 Faith, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, POV Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-24
Updated: 2006-07-24
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's thoughts during the faith healing scene in 'Faith'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Which Way You Can

Dean's not real hot on the idea of a faith healer, to say the least. He gripes all the way from the car to the tent, except when they're talking to Layla, which doesn't count because Dean would use his last breath on a pick-up line if a pretty girl walked by. Sam listens to Dean and wonders at his attitude, at his stance on faith as a whole, because in their line of work it seems pretty ridiculous to disbelieve in God and heaven and the idea that good actually exists to counteract evil.

Not that Sam could actually voice an opinion on the subject if he were asked. He's playing devil's advocate to get Dean inside the tent, but for himself ... he doesn't know, really. Right now he's willing to do just about anything to ensure that Dean doesn't die. He can't look beyond that, because if Dean dies there won't _be_ anything else, and that scares Sam more than anything. And if Dean would maybe stop bitching for five seconds and take note of that ...

Then he takes a closer look at Dean's face, reads the nuances there, and he realises that Dean ... Dean is scared too, and disappointed, and trying desperately to cover that up with his usual biting wit. 'Specialist' was the wrong word to use, he sees now; Dean must've expected something concrete to rely on when they got here, not something he has to trust in without seeing it, and losing that expectation is making him shy away from Sam like a skittish horse.

Sam's forgotten some things about his brother in the past four years. Dean doesn't trust anything he can't judge for himself, and you can't judge something you can't see.

He gets Dean inside the tent anyway, mainly because Dean's too weak to resist his manhandling. They have a brief squabble over where to sit; that's more about Dean's shyness among people he's not trying to rook than anything else, and Sam gets his way and they end up in the second row behind Layla and her mother. Sam knows he's running roughshod over Dean's wishes, but he's honestly too worried about him to care. They can fight over how insensitive Sam is later, after Dean's well enough to kick his ass. Until then, Dean will do what Sam wants him to, and what Sam wants is to take the look of pain and the laboured breathing away from his brother's body. If this faith healer can help do that, Sam doesn't care about the rest. He just ... he can't lose Dean. He can't. It's that simple.

The preacher starts to speak, talking about the sad state of the world today, and it's pretty standard stuff. Sam pays minimal attention, looking around at the parishioners, seeing folks with crutches and oxygen tanks and a dozen other pieces of medical equipment, all wearing these looks of devoted expectation. Dean is doing the same, quietly shooting off sideways glances, his face registering puzzlement, disbelief, pity. Pity, for God's sake, when he's so frail he can barely walk on his own and he has to sit down every couple of minutes to catch his breath. Sam can't believe it. He feels sympathy for all these other folks, of course he does – but if Dean is chosen to go up on that stage, Sam will carry him up there if he has to.

During the sermon, Dean's smart mouth gets the better of him, and even though Sam knows it's just instinct, Dean trying to control a situation that makes him uncomfortable, he wants to kick Dean's ass himself, because they cannot afford to piss this guy off. This is Dean's last chance, short of a miraculous heart transplant – which they can't afford, and couldn't apply for anyway given the events in St Louis and Dean's resulting 'death'. If they screw this up, Dean is toast.

Thankfully, the preacher has a sense of humour. More, he takes a shine to them or something, because five seconds after asking his name he's urging Dean up on the stage, and Sam's heart starts to race because ... this is it. He knows what's going to happen. Dean's been chosen, by whoever, whatever, runs this show, and they're going to get their second chance.

Dean doesn't want to go up. Sam nearly tears his hair out in frustration; now is _not_ the time for stage fright, and he almost pushes Dean out of his seat to get him up there. Dean looks at him, and he must read something in Sam's face because a second later he's up, on his way to the stage, shoulders hunched and quietly speaking to the preacher, his face apologetic. Sam sits on the edge of his seat, his heartbeat the only sound he can hear, his eyes fixed on his brother's pale face.

If this works, if Joshua is right, he'll know it in about thirty seconds.

The preacher calls for prayer; the congregation links hands and bows their heads, all except for Sam. Sam keeps his gaze squarely on Dean, his hands clenched, fingernails cutting crescents into his palms. He doesn't know if it'll help, but he's pushing every positive vibe he's got toward the two men on the stage. _Fix him_ , he thinks, throwing the thought as wide as he can. _He's a good man. He deserves this. Please, just ... fix him._

Unspoken even in his mind are the words, _Don't make him leave me here alone._

Dean stands motionless on the stage as the preacher fumbles a hand up over his shoulder to his face. He closes his eyes, his face blank, but his skin is so white and thin Sam can see blood pulsing through the artery at his throat. Sam holds his breath, eyes burning, refusing to blink as if that will break the spell.

"All right," the preacher breathes, and Dean staggers to his knees. Sam jerks in his seat, instinct telling him to get up there, but he forces himself to stay put and watch (because, he remembers, he can't fuck this up, no way, no how). It hurts to see Dean so helpless and exposed in front of dozens of strangers, but it's a means to an end and Sam will stand it if it works. Dean is standing it for him; he can't do any less.

Then Dean shudders and swoons under the preacher's hand, falling bonelessly to the floor, and Sam forgets restraint and is flying up onto the stage before Dean's body stops moving. He's warm; he's so warm, Sam is shocked, because Dean has been cold of late, his heart unable to pump his blood enough to keep his circulation going, and Sam has been rubbing Dean's arms and legs every night to get him warm enough to sleep, wrapping himself around Dean's body to feed him heat throughout the night. But now Dean's throwing off enough body heat to indicate a fever, only he's not flushed, not sweating: he's not doing anything but lying there, breathing - _breathing_ , oh thank God – and when Sam puts a hand on his chest he can feel Dean's heartbeat, steady as a rock, the way it's always been.

Sam closes his eyes and sends out a prayer, to whom he doesn't know, and right now he doesn't care much. Dean is _alive_. Sam grips the collar of his brother's jacket and chokes down tears.

A moment later, Dean opens his eyes and looks not at Sam, but over his shoulder at the preacher. Sam expects to see abashment, shock, maybe even gratitude: what he doesn't expect is Dean's look of utter horror, his flinch when Sam's hand brushes his face. His eyes meet Sam's and the look doesn't fade; it gets worse, as if he's accusing Sam of something awful. As if _Sam_ is something awful.

Sam pulls Dean to his feet, feeling the rigid tension in his brother's shoulders, and his stomach sinks when he realises the situation just got complicated.

END


End file.
